


take 1:

by madrox (ramathorne)



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Gun Kink, M/M, PWP, Swearing, and axton is anything but vanilla, zer0 is an asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 14:25:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9238925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramathorne/pseuds/madrox
Summary: "--Let me get this straight," Zer0 says, suspiciously. "You want me to hold the gun / nothing else. Just that.""Just that," Axton confirms. "If you sit there," he says, gesturing to one of the destroyed walls next to them, "Holding the gun and doing nothing else-- you can have it."Because if he's going to be losing a gun to a terrifyingly competent assassin, he might as well get something out of it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nni/gifts).



> look, sometimes you just have to write about depraved mercenaries having unconventional trade-offs in the middle of the night.

Like he's instructed, Zer0 settles on the edge of the levelled wall. He sits there, in a traditional sniper position, with his arms looped around each other and his tall, lithe frame hunched protectively over Axton's Maliwan rifle. Ex-rifle. Whatever. It's a conservative stance, one Axton might have a little difficulty working with, but he doesn't mention that. He's all too aware of how fragile this truce is, and he's not willing to risk asking for anything more lest the assassin changes his mind altogether.

"...Acceptable?" Zer0 asks him, his tone wary. He shifts, and as he does, his finger tenses ever so slightly against the gun's trigger; the material of his glove creaks just so, holding back the intent to squeeze.

Axton swallows.

"Yeah," he croaks. Licks his lips, which are laughably dry. "Yeah, acceptable," he assures, like he hasn't been thinking about trying something like this for _weeks_ . Like he doesn't notice that Zer0 carries his guns and blades like they're not just tools, but an extension of his body, and how he hasn't met anyone with that kind of ease since _Sarah_. Like he doesn't think about what Zer0 must have done-- either in this life of a past one, to kill so easily and effortlessly with anything that's handed to him.

Like he doesn't take himself in hand five nights a week, curled over himself in his sleeping bag, his pace rough and punishing; with his eyes shut tight and his thoughts always, always drifting to how that violence would feel shoving a barrel down his throat, with its finger on the trigger and the barely-there hum of a charging shot vibrating through his teeth.

He knows his tastes are a little bizarre, alright? He's known this for a while. Maya and Salvador are always joking that he has a gun kink, or that he's fucking his turret when no one's looking, which is-- Okay. It's almost right. He hasn't really brought it up because the truth-- while slightly less damning-- has the potential to sound much, much worse than it actually is.

Axton is all too aware of his talent at saying things and making them sound much, much worse than they actually are. So he doesn't. Say things, that is.

"--My patience, like time," Zer0 growls, his fingers twitching on the Maliwan's handgrip in a way that suggest Axton _get a fucking move on_ , "Is slipping, slipping, slipping / into the future."

Axton scowls.

"Firstly," he says, "Who the fuck introduced you to The Steve Miller Band?"

Zer0, irritatingly, says nothing. His HUD flashes a brief smiley emote. Axton scowls harder.

"Secondly," he continues, "My gun, my rules. So be a good fuckin' assassin and don't move a muscle, or else you'll have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands. Which is not an invitation!" He adds, hastily, when Zer0's helmet switches from its smug ' **;-)** ' to that eerie, bold ' **0** '.

The number fades away, and Zer0, apparently making good on his word, doesn't move. Axton approaches him, slowly, and drops to his knees; the gun's sight lining up with his chest and his leg guards crunching soundly into the gravel below them.

Then he takes a good, long look, because he is pretty sure this is the only time he'll ever get a chance to be on this side of Zer0's rifle and _live_. And while just the _thought_ of that is already sending shudders through him, Axton wants-- _needs_ to appreciate this while he still can.

He looks at Zer0, at his sharp, dangerous edges, and thinks, yeah. He can work with this.

Then he bites the bullet (get it?) and goes for it.

Without warning, he dips down; licks a long, slow trail up the tip of the sniper's barrel, and even though he knows the other hunter's been steeling himself for _something_ , when Axton's tongue flicks out he sees Zer0 clam the fuck _up_. His hackles rise, his fingers wrap _tight_ around the gun's handgrip, and Axton just _looks_ at him, smug and defiant and locked onto where he thinks Zer0's eyes are. Lets his lips trail over the cold steel and savors the crisp, lingering smell of the gun's shock ammo searing through his nose.

Then he does it all over again, staring up as he drags the flat of his tongue along the other side; moans quietly when the familiar, chemical taste of metal and oil blossoms over his taste buds because he can't _not_.

Zer0 looks fucking furious.

At least, Axton _thinks_ so, if the vice-grip he has on the rifle is any indication. Actually, he looks a lot like he wants to shove Axton back with his foot and shoot him right in the fucking _chest_ , which, the thought of that, of pissing off someone this fucking dangerous-- it sends blood rushing to his cock so fast he gets a little dizzy.

The ground shakes, then, like a spell breaking the calm.

Zer0 jerks into action; jabs the rifle into his sternum, and Axton's still so caught up in himself that he doesn't even fight it, just rocks back with the blow in surprise; clutches hard onto the barrel for dear life, blinking.

Then, as he's jabbed again-- a little more forcefully, stars explode.

...Figuratively. Behind his eyes.

"Fuck," he says, breathless, and tries to remember where he is, or what his name is. He's so fucking hard he can't even _think_. Then he says, "Don't shoot," because while Axton likes the idea of someone wanting to shoot him, of a long, sleek gun in an expert's hand pressed against his hammering heart, he's not too fond of the part where he gets. Uh. Dead.

"Are you done?" Zer0 snaps. His voice sounds strange. Garbled, through the communicator. Like maybe he's _affected,_ and Axton feels something clench in his gut, low and terrible and curious. "This is / degrading, not just for you / but the gun, moreso."

Axton closes his eyes and breathes. _Was_ he done? Maybe. It wasn't a perfect fantasy, but then again, what is? He certainly got a lot more out of this than he ever thought he'd get out of anyone (or any _thing_ ) on this god-forsaken planet. Plus, if he goes any further, Zer0 might actually slice his head off.

Maybe his dick, too. And he-- well, he kind of likes both his heads where they are.

"Yeah," he says, finally. His eyes flick down to the telltale tent at the front of his cargos. "Yeah," he laughs, weakly, and adjusts himself. "I'm set," he says, and doesn't think about how he's definitely gone off of less for longer, thanks to the fucking military. He's probably set for the next twenty something _years_.

He finally makes himself look somewhat presentable, and because he can't fucking help himself, he snarks, "Was it as good for you as it was for me?" but when he looks up, Zer0's already gone.

Asshole.

He doesn't blame him, though.

Axton scrubs one hand over the scruff of his fifteen o'clock shadow as he stares off into the distant Nothing. His fingers swipe over his lips, and his thumb lingers at the corner of his mouth, rubbing at the wetness there.

Then, because he knows he's alone, he gets up; slides carefully over the other side of the destroyed wall, and jacks the _fuck_ off, again, and again, until the fucking sun rises and he's forced to wobble back to camp with his legs shaking and his body clammy with sweat.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading. sorry it's terrible. also, happy new year.


End file.
